


Echoes of Days Yet Passed

by HeyYahtzee



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyYahtzee/pseuds/HeyYahtzee
Summary: The responsibility of being the only cleric in an adventuring party is a heavy weight to carry.





	Echoes of Days Yet Passed

**Author's Note:**

> Another!
> 
> This one inspired by a dream and Jester's Grumpy Healing! Takes place down the road somewhere between levels 10-14.

Three days after defeating a tomb of Banshees under Rexxentrum, Jester wakes from fitful slumber, throws on her clothes and her knapsack, and exits the inn the party has been staying in. She walks, muttering to herself, to a small garden a few streets over. It takes her a minute or two to pick the lock on the gate, but then she’s in.

She wanders between the tall shrubs, rose bushes, midnight lilies, and fairy’s hair until she comes across a stone bench beneath a tall, crooked tree. She plops down onto it, wrinkling her skirt, and takes out her sketchbook. Her hands glide over the cover, dark leather with grease stains from pastries past.

But she doesn’t open it.

“You know,” she says out loud, “It is very difficult to draw you nice things with all of those terrible dreams in my head.”

A soft breeze moves through the garden. The faint sound of people in the street rises over the fence.

“You are no help,” she hisses. She rips the sketchbook open and flips to a blank page. She’s going to draw…. A dragon! Or a whole litter of baby fox cupcakes!!

She plunges her quill down onto the paper and scribbles feverishly. Little legs and little heads, fluffy little smiles…

_Blood. Dripping, sticky, coating her hands as she tries to stop it from flowing out on the cold stones, the lifeless eyes looking up at her, hand warm and wet on her cheek._

Jester shudders, her hand following the shapes she sees shining through her innocent creatures like a gruesome connect the dot. She can’t stop, can’t unsee or resist the urge to sketch what she’d known in her sleep. The lines on the page become harder, the baby foxes melting into the shadows of a dark room and a corpse run through with a spike, a corpse at the bottom of a pit, a corpse decapitated by a sword, a corpse a corpse a corpse.

Jester stares down at the sketchbook, her breathing raspy, then she throws it down on the stone and curls into a ball, head on her knees and arms wrapped around herself.

“Please, Traveler, it is all I see,” she cries, “Oh, please just make it go away!”

There’s a rustling and then a heavy thud near the base of the tree.

“Jester? Babe? Hey!”

A strong arm wraps around her waist as a hand runs through her hair. Jester turns and rests her head on Beau’s lap, arms still shielding her face, shoulders shaking as she sobs. One hand starts rubbing her back firmly, the other curling around her horns to continue running through her hair.

“That’s right, let it out. I’ve gotcha,” Beau soothes.

It takes several minutes, but Jester’s breathing eventually evens out and the waterfall of tears slows to a few streaks across her cheeks. Beau bends over her to look at her face. Jester’s eyes are open and she’s staring out into the garden, a gentle frown on her lips.

Beau leans closer and kisses her jaw just below her ear, careful not to poke an eye out on Jester’s horn. Jester sighs and sits up in Beau’s arm, both of them shifting until Jester is cradled in Beau’s lap.

“How did you find me?” Jester asks.

“I woke up with this weird feeling that something was wrong and saw you leave the inn. Tried to catch up to ask you where you were going but you were walking so fast you were already picking the lock by the time I caught up with you. Didn’t hear me calling your name either. Kinda felt like a creep when I realized I followed you so far, so I, uh, climbed the fence. Why are you yelling at the Traveler?” Beau asks.

“I am yelling at the Traveler because I am frustrated with… well…. Maybe I should have told you. I did not want to worry you, though, and I know I do not usually keep things to myself but I was scared and I did not want to feel scared and so I just tried to make it go away,” Jester explains, playing with Beau’s jacket.

“Jester. Tell me,” Beau says.

“I have been having bad dreams,” Jester says, getting up to retrieve her sketchbook from the ground. Beau’s fingers remain lightly on her hip, guiding her back once the sketchbook is in her hand. Jester flips the book open to the page she’d just finished and holds it out. Beau takes it from her, eyes widening.

“Holy fucking shit, Jes, that’s…. Is that me? And Molly? Oh fuck, look at Caleb! And Fjord! And Nott…. even Yasha…..” Beau says, flipping back through several pages. It’s all the same. Blood and guts everywhere, dead lifeless eyes staring out from the page. Beau tosses the book onto the bench next to them and wraps her arms around Jester again.

“You’ve been dreaming this shit?” she asks, pulling away and putting her hands on Jester’s face. Jester nods, lip trembling, tears cresting at the edges of her eyes again. Beau wipes them away carefully.

“Ever since we fought those horrible banshees in that disgusting tomb. I was fine until it started screaming and then all of you just fell down all at once and I was all alone all of a sudden and I thought, well, what if I cannot bring everyone back? What if I’m the only one who leaves this place? And now it is what I see every time I try to draw or sleep and I cannot make it stop!”

“You did bring us back,” Beau says, pulling Jester closer, “You saved everyone!”

“I know that! But it is not what I wanted, Beau! I wanted to see interesting things and find my dad and pull pranks on people! We used to have more fun when it was just us traveling and no one knew who we were or anything but now I am always seeing my best friends almost die! I mean, I like the money, and I love you all, of course, but all I can think about is what if I am not fast enough? What if I am not there and something happens? I have never done this kind of thing like you and Fjord and Caleb have! I am not…. I….” Jester waves her hands in frustration and sinks further into Beau.

Beau kisses Jester on the cheek and wipes away the tears again.

"What about all the times we've helped you? I have a healer's kit, Fjord has potions. He's picked you up plenty of times and so have I."

Jester sighs, "I know but it is not your job, okay? You have monk shit to do and Fjord has warlock shit to do, and how do I know that you will want to do healing more than fighting? Even I want to do more fighting than healing!"

Beau tilts her head and looks at Jester for a long, quiet second.

“You know, you're right. We've never really talked about it, and I get it. You feel responsible for us,” Beau says, brow furrowed, “How about we give you some real back up? Someone on healing duty with you when we go into a fight? I mean, I’m not afraid to punch the next person who says we don’t need healing potions before we get into some shit. Caleb can pick up a healing spell or two. And hey, I'll try to let you know in advance if I'm going to help you out and I bet the others will, too. We’ll figure it out.”

Jester blinks at her in confusion, “But… I am THE cleric!”

Beau sighs, “I fucking regret saying that, y’know. Sure, you’re our cleric. So what? You’re OUR cleric, and there’s no reason you ever have to feel alone, okay? You’ve got our backs and we’ve got yours.”

Jester sighs, shoulders rising and falling dramatically, then leans forward and kisses Beau on the mouth.

“Would you mind sleeping in my bed with me tonight? I know we have been trying to go slow and not do that every night, and it is okay if that is too fast, I understand, but I think maybe it would help me feel better, too, also,” Jester says.

“Nah, I’d be happy to,” Beau says, kissing her again, “How about we go talk to the others and see what we can do about getting you an assistant?”

Jester pats Beau’s cheek and begins to untangle herself, “I like it! But…. I think I want to talk to the Traveler just a little bit more….”

“Hear ya loud and clear. I’ll go find breakfast. If you aren’t back in an hour....”

“I will be back most likely in half an hour, no need to worry,” Jester reassures her. Beau grins and leans down for one more kiss, then scales back up the tree behind the bench and leaps down on the other side of the wall.

“Jeez that is hot,” Jester whispers.

Alone again, she sits and thumbs through her sketchbook. Wipes her nose on her sleeve. Scrunches up her face to get rid of the stiffness left over from crying.

"I am sorry I yelled at you," she says softly, "I am very tired I think, but Beau has helped. I am still scared, but not so much, you know? You would really like Beau, probably. She likes to play pranks, too."

She falls silent again, brow furrowed. Slowly, a smile creeps across her lips and she shakes her head.

“A weird feeling that something was wrong…” she murmurs, “You certainly are good at giving people that feeling.”

There’s a flash of movement in the nearest rhododendron. A fox stepping out onto the garden path. It shakes itself and blinks calmly up at Jester.

“Oh, hello little friend,” Jester says, holding out her hand, “Would you like to come closer?”

The fox trots forward, sniffs at Jester’s hand, and leans its head into her palm. Jester grins and gives the fox some good scritches behind its ears.

“Oh, I would love to draw you. Would you sit still for me?” she asks.

The fox sits.

Jester’s grin widens. She whips out her quill again and begins sketching long, elegant strokes.

The fox lunges.

One second it’s sitting patiently and the next its teeth are sunken into the sketchbook and dragging it from her hands.

“Hey!” Jester yells, “Stop that! What do you think, you are going to draw something!? You do not even have thumbs!”

The fox darts into the garden. Jester growls low in her throat and leaps after it. By the time she catches up the fox has the sketchbook in the dirt and is tearing shreds of paper out like a common dog.

“Hey!”

Jester snatches the sketchbook from the fox and cradles it close to her chest, “That was not even a funny trick, you know!”

The fox cackles at her and shakes its head. There’s a glimmer, a trick of the light or a shadow, but it almost looks like…

“Oh my gosh,” Jester whispers.

Out of the fox’s forehead is a four inch horn of opalescent bone.

“Secret undercover unicorn!” Jester gasps.

The fox cackles at her again and bolts back into the foliage. As it reaches the edge of the closest bush it turns and...winks.

Then it’s gone.

“Holy shit,” Jester says, looking down at her sketchbook, “Holy SHIT.”

All of her drawings are untouched, all except the gruesome depictions of her murdered friends, which are torn and scattered across the ground.

Against her hip, the Traveller symbol glows faintly, warm and familiar.

Jester snorts, then laughs, then admires the teeth marks adorning the cover of her book.

“Asshole,” she says.

She heads back to the bench and collects her things. The sun, high in the sky by now, shines new light onto the streets of the city. Jester walks to the gate and begins to let herself out, pauses, and steps back into the garden. Looking over both shoulders, she takes out a piece of charcoal from her pouch and quickly inscribes a dick on the stone wall.

Satisfied, she exits the garden.

Today is going to be fun. She can feel it.


End file.
